Perfect Imperfection
by LaKoda0518
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has always been like a well-oiled machine. His mind is a force to be reckoned with and he has never felt the need to involve anyone else in his endeavors. He believes himself to be above such things as “feelings” and “emotions”. That is... until John Watson stepped into his life. Rated M for later chapters!
1. Chapter One

A/N: Ok, so I am completely new to Sherlock fan fiction but I just couldn't resist the whole idea of Sherlock and John! I wrote here a long time ago under a different name, but this time I intend to do more. I hope everyone is able to enjoy this as much as I'm enjoying writing it! I do not own these characters, but I promise to try my best to be very kind to them! Lol

Chapter 1

The streets of London bustled down below, the city sounds echoing up to the main floor of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock stood facing one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows. His eyes were closed; his violin drawn up between his chin and shoulder as he drew the bow across the strings in a fluid motion. Lost in thought, he played to ease his mind. Sherlock was a master of many things; he could solve the most complex puzzles and mysteries in under twenty-four hours, he could rattle off a person's entire life history with just a single glance. But, relationships and "feelings" were something else entirely. Sherlock considered himself to be above such nonsense. He didn't have time for those things. Until... John.

Ever since John Watson had moved in, Sherlock couldn't take his mind off of his new flat mate. He was used to people being impressed by him, but the first time he had demonstrated his deduction skills to John - first, in the lab at St. Bart's; then, in the cab - the ex-army doctor had been completely in awe of him. Absolutely enamored. His heart rate had quickened, a sheen of sweat had risen up along his hairline, and he had licked his lips... Yes... those lips. Sherlock's brilliant blue eyes flew open, snatching the bow down to his side sharply, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip to pry himself away from the thought before he spiraled into oblivion. No, no, no. He wouldn't lose control of himself. His mind was a fortress filled with the most extraordinary thoughts and observations in the history of the human mind. He couldn't let himself be consumed by such ordinary desires. Yes, Sherlock had had many sexual encounters in the past, both male and female, but nothing sentimental. Mostly, Sherlock had first viewed sex as the ultimate human experiment. It had effected each person differently to some degree and his findings had been exhilarating at first. Then, he began to grow increasingly bored with it after achieving the same results for himself time and time again. He charmed his test subjects, seduced them into intercourse, and ended in swift release. Terrifyingly monotonous. The whole ordeal was very boring and Sherlock Holmes did not like getting bored.

But... John Watson's lips...

"Sherlock?"

The sound of John's voice coming from the stairwell snapped Sherlock out of his thoughts. He turned to see John clambering up the stairs carrying a paper grocery sack. He was dressed in a tight-fitting pair of jeans, a button down shirt, and his usual black jacket. He must have taken a cab to visit his sister more than an hour away, judging by the creases in the front of his jeans. And, oh, did those creases frame John's crotch in just the right way...

"I tried to message you, but you never answered your mobile. I picked up some milk and sugar while I was out," John said, sitting the bag down on the kitchen counter.

Sherlock, who swallowed slowly in order to regain his self-control, merely nodded as he watched John set to putting the grocery items away. A small smile spread across his face at the way John had to stretch himself up to place the sugar in the cupboard above the stove. Ah, he wondered what it must be like to be as normal as John Watson. Then, that's when it happened: the short, quiet moan that escaped the good doctor's lips as he overstretched his injured shoulder. As John rotated his shoulder to soothe his old war wound, Sherlock felt the irritating tingle of arousal spreading throughout his body. Dear. God. What was happening?

(Switch to John's POV)

John turned, taking a step toward Sherlock, but froze before he could approach his flat mate any further. Sherlock was gaping at him; his lips parted slightly with a feverish look in his captivating blue eyes as the violin dangled at his side. Suddenly, John felt extremely exposed and uncomfortable. What on earth was he doing? Was this normal behavior for a sociopath? John cleared his throat rather loudly, "Um... Sherlock, is everything ok?"

The detective blinked his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he held up a pale, thin hand. "Uh, yes. Yes, of course," he answered, finally looking John in the face again. His face was as emotionless as usual. "Nice to have you back, John. I'm sorry, but I'm terribly busy at the moment. You know, puzzles don't solve themselves," he said as he placed the violin back in its case, then turned on his heel and headed for the couch. He dropped gracefully onto the well-worn couch, lying flat on his back, his head propped on the arm. His eyes closed with his hands pressed together just under his chin.

John stared after him for only a moment before crossing over to the counter to make a cup of tea. He was slightly tired from his trip, but always found it best to unwind with a nice cup of tea before bed. He had gone to his sister's today to check in on her as her divorce had been finalized the week before. She was doing well, but was overly curious about John's new living situation. He had finally had something to write about in his blog and it had become quite the popular read all across the country, which came as quite a surprise to him really. You see, it was no longer just an account of the daily happenings in the life of John Watson, but had evolved into the ever-interesting adventures of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Yes, Harry had been keeping up on it and, even though they didn't always get on very well, she was very intrigued by his new lifestyle. For the first time in a long time, they had had something pleasant to talk about. She had remained sober for 6 months and John could tell a great deal of difference in her already. Not to mention, she was extremely interested in finding out all she could about Sherlock. However, some of her assumptions had caught him off guard. "So, how long have you been seeing him?" she had asked, causing John to choke on his own air. Did people really think that they were-? That he and Sherlock were...? He had almost shouted as he exclaimed that he was not in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes. It was an absolutely ridiculous assumption and he couldn't understand where the thought had even originated. His sister had laughed aloud, eventually explaining that she believed him, but still John wondered.

As he finished making his tea, John grabbed a saucer and made his way into the small living room. As Sherlock was taking up the entire couch, John sat his cup and saucer on the end table then retrieved his computer from the desk before he sunk to the floor. He lazily began checking his emails and getting caught up on his usual correspondence with followers of his blog. Taking his cup and saucer down from the end table close to Sherlock's head, he leaned his back against the front of the couch while he read the comments off of his computer screen.

(Switch to Sherlock's POV)

Sherlock felt John's body rest against the couch and he stiffened. His senses felt heightened as the collar of John's jacket brushed against the shoulder of his blazer. As he opened his eyes to glance at John, he found that his face was almost even with the back of John's head. The temptation to touch him was almost unbearable. He could even deduce exactly what shampoo - and just how much of it - John had used in his shower that morning based on the small traces of the scent that remained on the back of his neck if he had wanted. But, before Sherlock had made up his mind on what to do, John pushed his body up and leaned his head back slowly, stretching the muscles in his neck, accidentally pushing the nape of his neck into Sherlock's face.

And that was all the detective could take.

Sherlock felt John's entire body freeze at the realization of what he had just done, but Sherlock was too far gone. He closed his eyes and pressed a chaste, burning kiss into the soft skin on the back of John's neck. He heard a short gasp escape his flat mate's lips and he couldn't resist the urge to kiss John again. This time, he leaned just over John's shoulder, licking his lips before he pressed them against the exposed skin above his collarbone allowing himself to nip at the skin playfully. This elicited a small yelp from the ex-army doctor and Sherlock felt his entire body spring to life. Oh... the game is on.

As John shifted awkwardly in his position on the floor, he turned to look at Sherlock with a very apprehensive look in his eyes. Sherlock stared back at him blankly, waiting for him to speak. Though his flat mate's mouth opened, no words formed, so Sherlock spoke first. "Yes, John? Is something wrong?" he asked, his velvety voice sounding deeper than usual. It was intriguing to see John look so... so innocent. So vulnerable. He eyed the good doctor hungrily as he tried to find the will to speak.

(Switch to John's POV)

John half-coughed, half-choked as his brain finally remembered how to form words. "Sherlock-... er, Sherlock, just what in the devil do you think you're doing??" His voice boomed shakily, but Sherlock only raised an eyebrow. This exasperated John to no end. "What the hell was all that about??" he shouted, causing a sly smile to creep across the detective's face.

"Oh, Doctor, I think you know exactly what that was. You can't be that daft. However, I'm not sure I understand your verbal frustrations. Your elevated heart rate and shortness of breath tell me you rather enjoy the feeling of my lips on your neck," Sherlock answered, giving John a very meaningful look as he licked his bottom lip.

John couldn't believe this was actually happening. He wanted to punch Sherlock straight in the face. Yet, at the same time, he felt oddly relaxed and relieved. What on earth had Sherlock done to him? Before he could give it anymore thought, Sherlock had closed the distance between their faces. "Beg me to kiss you..." he breathed against John's lips. His eyes were raking over John's expression, searching for something. He could feel Sherlock's warm breath on his face and he swallowed hard. "We can't do this..." he said, breathily. John could feel all of his will-power draining from his body. He closed his eyes as Sherlock angled his chin toward him and brushed those perfect lips against his own. For God's sake... The moment Sherlock's lips met his, John's mind exploded into sensory overload.

Yes... oh God, yes!

(Switch to Sherlock's POV)

Sherlock pressed the kiss deeper as he felt John's hands come up to close around the lapels of his blazer. He gripped the detective hard and Sherlock felt himself being pulled to the floor. Careful not to fall directly on top of John, he broke their kiss briefly as he slid off the couch and positioned himself between John's knees. He quickly dove back down to capture John's lips once more, this time running his tongue along John's bottom lip, begging him to let him explore his mouth. Within seconds, the good doctor parted his lips in a quiet moan granting Sherlock access. The detective ran the tip of his tongue over John's lips before pressing into his mouth and swirling his tongue around John's. He felt his flat mate go limp beneath him as he caught his tongue and hollowed out his cheeks in a sucking motion. John writhed beneath the taller man and Sherlock noticed the bulge in the front of John's jeans. It thrilled him to know that he, Sherlock Holmes, had given John Watson an erection. It was just too good. Sherlock had been stifling erections of his own not long after John had moved in. He wasn't one to pleasure himself, so he had spent more time than usual escaping to his mind palace in order to will his desires away. This time, however, he wanted John to know exactly what he did to him. His own erection was straining in the front of his trousers and he positioned his hips so that he was rubbing it against John's inner thigh.

Bloody fucking hell...

Sherlock broke their kisses and threw his head back with a guttural moan. How had he let himself break so easily? If it felt this good to dry hump John, he didn't know if he would actually survive fucking him. It may very well be the death of him. He glanced down at John who was staring up at him wantonly. His lips were parted and his eyes were wide, staring straight into Sherlock's handsome face. Willing himself back down to John's level, he brought his hand up and traced a long, lanky finger along John's jaw line. He felt a shudder run through the good doctor's body and he cupped his hand under his chin, leaning down to kiss him hungrily. He swiped his tongue over the smaller man's lips once again and bit down on his bottom lip.

Even though John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, this time the detective felt him pulling his body back slightly. Breaking their kiss once more, Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. John's face was flushed and his breathing was ragged. His lips were swollen and pouty-looking, driving Sherlock absolutely crazy. But, his eyes. Sherlock saw a mixture of emotions in the dark blue eyes staring back at him - desire, fear, arousal, anxiety? He was staring at Sherlock like it was the first time he'd ever gotten a proper look at him.

Pulling back to sit on his knees, Sherlock reached out a hand to brush the sweaty mess of blonde hair away from John's forehead, but the good doctor turned away from the touch, his eyes closing. Interesting...

"Are you alright, John? I was under the impression that you were enjoying yourself," Sherlock assessed, pushing for John to respond to him. He wasn't quite sure exactly what had happened between them.

(Switch to John's POV)

What was happening? Had he really just pulled Sherlock down on top of him on the floor of their flat...?

John was lying on his back with his eyes closed, willing himself to steady his breath. He could still feel Sherlock's body between his knees and he realized the detective was tracing wide circular patterns, soothingly, on his inner thigh with his right hand. He heard Sherlock's voice, but was unable to wrap his mind around the words he was saying. The good doctor struggled to relay words from his brain to his mouth, but he blinked open his eyes to look up at his flat mate. Sherlock was the sexiest human being he had ever laid eyes on - his bright blue eyes, black curly hair, and chiseled cheekbones made him look like a god. His tall, thin but muscular frame made John's mouth water and he couldn't help but lick his bottom lip ever so slightly.

Shit.

Sherlock saw it - the intensity in his eyes deepened and John felt helpless. He stayed still as Sherlock brushed a hand across his forehead, sweeping his hair back from his head. The thin, long fingers ghosted down the side of his face coming to rest on his chin once again, Sherlock's thumb playing at his bottom lip.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock asked once more.

John thought for a moment. Was he alright? Was this really something he was going to be ok with? "Maybe..." he finally answered, "I just - I don't really understand all of this. What are you doing?".

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What am I doing? I believe you are the one that pulled me down here," he answered, matter of factly. Well, he wasn't wrong... John had dragged Sherlock off the couch.

The good doctor cleared his throat again, "Ah yes, quite right. I'm sorry - what are we doing? However, you instigated this - this - I don't even know what to call it. And I would very much like an explanation, because if this is another one of your experiments, Sherlock Holmes, so help me I will kill you,". John felt his frustration mounting at this point and was trying his best to remain calm.

Sherlock stared at him thoughtfully. The corner of his mouth twitched in a cheeky manner and his voice was a velvety purr, "Well, John, I believe we were kissing - French kissing to be exact. I was trying to pleasure you. Now, the more appropriate question would be were you being pleasured? Was. I. Doing. It. Right,".

John couldn't imagine just how inexplicably stupid he must have looked staring up at the detective with such a dumbfounded expression. Only Sherlock Holmes could do this - push the weight of the whole situation back onto him. John would never understand the constant struggle going on his brain; halfway wanting to strangle Sherlock and halfway wishing he would kiss him again. "Sherlock, I'm not gay," was all that fell out of his mouth and he instantly regretted it.

A deep, growl of a chuckle filled the living room as Sherlock began to laugh. If John hadn't been in this particular situation, he may have thought it to be one of the most wonderful sounds he had ever heard. But, the look of satisfaction on the detective's face was worrisome. "The nature of a guilty man is to avoid the original question therefore providing me an answer to a question I never asked. Oh, John, you are trying to be difficult, aren't you? How interesting it must be inside your mind, never knowing what you truly want, being conditioned into one way or another based on a society you don't even participate in. It really is fascinating, John, brilliantly fascinating," his words were sharp as he smiled wickedly. Sherlock placed a hand on John's knee and pushed himself up off the floor. Still smirking, he held a hand out to help the doctor up, but John ignored it and stood on his own.

(Switch to Sherlock's POV) _

Sherlock stared at his own outstretched hand and then glanced at John who had turned away from him, busying himself with his mobile phone. Deep down, he knew John knew what was happening between them and sooner or later he would come to terms with it all. He brushed his hands against the front of his blazer, absentmindedly dusting himself off as his own phone let out a chime. Crossing the room to the desk, he picked it up to review a text message from Lestrade. Ah…. A case.

"John, grab your coat. We're going out,".

(Break)*

Stepping back into the entryway of 221B, Sherlock was elated. It had been a simple case, but a case nonetheless. It was only 2am and, for the first time, he was actually pleased to be returning home. John had gone with him as usual and the tension from before had faded. He was coming up the stairs behind Sherlock and sounded quite tired. It was usually the same routine when they returned home: John would get a shower and then make himself a cup of tea which he would then drink in the living room while he watched some television before heading off to bed. It was the little things like this – the routine of it all – that made Sherlock glad to be home for the night. He liked having John there doing his mundane routine. It was almost as if it grounded Sherlock in a way he had never felt before. John was his own personal little piece of the normal world.

As they reached the living room, Sherlock went over to the window and picked up his violin once again. This was one of the few times he had wanted to play just for the sake of it. Sometimes, it was just a nice way to unwind after a night out. Like he expected, John headed up to go get his clothes, but he brushed past him on his way to the stairs. Sherlock pushed back into the touch and John shied away.

"Sorry, just going to get a shower," he muttered, seeming slightly embarrassed.

God, John made this too easy. His footsteps shuffled behind him and within minutes he made his way back across the room and the bathroom door closed behind him. Sherlock listened for the sound of water running from the shower head as he fought the urge to slip in and join John while he showered. It would be absolutely breath taking to see John like that, but somehow he just didn't think now was a good time. Oh, Sherlock would join him at some point, just not this time. If he was going to go through with this, he was going to have to wait for John to initiate contact and certain situations. However, with the way John seemed to crave having Sherlock close to him, he didn't think that would take very long at all.

(Switch to John's POV) _

John stepped into the shower and let the steaming hot water wash over him. As bad as his muscles ached, he had to admit that he enjoyed running wildly through the streets of London, right on Sherlock's heels, as they followed whatever crazy idea popped into his head. It was exciting. The thrill of the chase, the draw of the game. It gave John a rush he hadn't experienced since he'd returned from the war. Perhaps Mycroft had been right – he did miss this. He finally felt like he had a purpose again. No matter how crazy Sherlock might be.

Yes, Sherlock was borderline insane; John was sure of it. He had no idea what the crazy bastard had been up to before they had left the flat today, but he was very suspicious. Sherlock Holmes did not do "feelings" and "emotions". He wasn't that sort of man. Sherlock was strictly business – 'married to his work' as he had said when they first met. There was nothing about him that said otherwise. He wasn't close to his brother, Mycroft, he didn't have close contact with other relatives, and he did not have friends outside of John and Lestrade – if you could even count him at all. So, the whole idea of Sherlock trying to start something with John was completely absurd. He was almost positive that he was only running experiments on him. The only thing that John really wanted to know was why? Why must he do these things to him?

The doctor sighed and let his shoulders slump as he bathed himself off and rinsed the soap from his body. There was no hope of ever figuring out what Sherlock was thinking unless he wanted you to. If Sherlock wanted John to know what was going on, he'd find a way to tell him. On a side note, John had to wonder to himself. Did he really feel attracted to his flat mate? Surely not! However, when Sherlock had kissed him, it was like nothing he had ever experienced before. It was almost as if Sherlock somehow already knew exactly what John liked and didn't like. Like he knew where to touch him and how. Like he knew John's entire body. Could Sherlock deduce those things to? Could he work out someone's sexual desires just by looking at them? Jesus…. If that was the case, John was doomed.

Turning the water off and pulling a towel off the rack just outside the shower, John dried himself off from head to foot and wrapped the towel around his waist. He glanced at himself in the mirror as he fixed his hair. Wait. Why was he fixing his hair? God, this is insane. He stopped messing with his hair and turned to dress himself instead, catching the soothing, graceful sound of Sherlock's violin.

Vivaldi. He always favored Vivaldi when he was in a good mood. And John loved listening to him play. On nights like this, he would make his tea and sit on the couch pretending to read instead of turning on the telly. Some nights, John would fall asleep just listening to Sherlock play. It was oddly intimate. The last time that had happened, he had woken up in the middle of the night alone, but he had a blanket draped over him and tucked around his shoulders. Maybe there was more to that than he had originally thought. Could Sherlock really care?

Shaking the thought from his head, John threw his t-shirt on and hung up his towel to dry. He walked across the room without Sherlock even turning around. In the kitchen, he made his tea and took up his usual spot on the couch. He set his cup down on the end table, picked up his book, and listened to Sherlock play. Before he knew it, he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you all so much for the exciting and wonderful reviews! It really has inspired me to do more with this little idea I've had, so I have so much more fun in store for our favorite boys lol Here's Chapter Two for now and I honestly can't wait to get Chapter Three uploaded!! You're going to love it! Lol (Reminder: I don't own Sherlock or anything affiliated with it, but I do promise to be very kind to our boys!)

Chapter Two

Three weeks. That's how much time had passed since Sherlock had made his move to kiss his flat mate. John sat in his chair in the living room alone, the television on for background noise. He didn't quite understand why this bothered him so much. It wasn't like he was with Sherlock or anything like that. They were flat mates and colleagues – nothing more. John wasn't even gay, so why did it matter? He really wished he knew. It was hard to shake the feel of the detective's lips on his though. Sherlock's lips had been velvety soft and oddly demanding all at the same time. It was extremely unfair, honestly. Who was Sherlock to think that he could just torment John in such a way? What gave him the right to kiss John silly and then act like nothing happened. Only Sherlock Holmes…

Sighing, the good doctor got up and went to make some breakfast and morning tea. He flipped the switch on the kettle and got down his cup while his breakfast cooked. There was a mess of test tubes and specimen containers scattered across the kitchen and John didn't dare try to figure out what was in them. Life with Sherlock would do that to you. It was a funny thing living with London's famous crime-solver. At times, John often felt like his mentor and guide to the real world. Being a 'high-functioning sociopath' didn't leave a lot of room for understanding others' thoughts and feelings.

Wait a minute….. maybe that was why Sherlock had acted like nothing had happened between them three weeks ago? He didn't understand it himself. John was willing to bet that Sherlock, being the overly-enigmatic misfit that he was, had no idea what he had truly done or what it all meant to John. The frustration he had been feeling softened a bit. He shook his head with a small smile as the kettle clicked off and he poured the boiling water over his tea bag. At least things made sense now. Sherlock wasn't ignoring what had happened between them; his mindset was more like a computer program – he had closed the file on the kiss and had opened many more during the last three weeks as he solved cases and figured out mysteries for Lestrade. Why, Sherlock may have even deleted the file for all he knew….

Thinking of this gave John an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Would Sherlock actually choose to forget what they had done? It really wouldn't surprise John if he had, but it still stung just a bit. He wasn't exactly sure of the real motive he had for why he wanted Sherlock to remember the way they had kissed, but he didn't want him to forget what it was like. Even though it had been weeks, John could still recall the exact way Sherlock's lips felt against his, even down to the taste. Kissing Sherlock had tasted like the half drunken cups of tea the detective usually left all over their flat – slightly sweet, cool, and familiar.

It was the familiarity of it that settled in John's mind and warmed his heart the most. He would have never dreamed he would be kissing his friend like that, but, now that it had been so long, John felt an emptiness he couldn't describe. It made him lonely and a little desperate to feel wanted and needed by the detective. How could he tell if Sherlock missed their contact too?

As he finished making his tea and plated his breakfast – toast and eggs, John walked out into the living room to eat. To his surprise Sherlock was sitting in his chair in his dressing gown and pajama bottoms, splayed out with his head thrown back and eyes closed. John nearly choked on his own breath, letting out an audible gasp.

Sherlock's eyes opened and he lifted his head to look at John. "Morning, John," he said, just as casually as ever.

Words…. Good God, why couldn't he register words when he needed to speak them? John cleared his throat; a habit he seemed to have formed within the past few weeks. "Morning, Sherlock. Any plans for the day?" he finally stammered, setting his cup on the end table and sitting down with his plate. Sherlock did not answer right away. Instead, he was watching John intently; his eyes full of something John didn't quite recognize. He tried again, "Sherlock?"

The detective blinked once in a slow manner, looking John in the eye. "No, nothing planned," he answered with a twitch of his lips. He was acting even more unusual than normal.

(Switch to Sherlock's POV)

Sherlock hadn't heard the question at first. He was much too deep in thought. As he finally answered, he still couldn't take his eyes off of his flat mate. It had been three weeks and John hadn't given him much of anything. Just small touches here and there – a hand on Sherlock's shoulder as he moved behind him, standing or sitting close enough for their legs to brush against one another's. He didn't know if it was the fact that John really wasn't interested in his advances or if he just simply didn't understand what to do next. Either way, it was absolutely agonizing. Sherlock had tucked away the memory of that first moment in its own special room in his mind palace and he had to admit he had visited it more times than he could count.

Most people that Sherlock had ever tried to charm or seduce had given into him almost instantaneously and always pushed him for more, even though he never gave it. Before, it had all been experimental – nothing but research as far as Sherlock was concerned – but, with John, this was different. Then again, everything involving John had been different for Sherlock. John did things to him; things that he didn't quite comprehend. How could the accidental brush of John's fingertips on his elbow in passing unravel someone of Sherlock's genius and reduce him to nothing?

As John sat across from him eating his breakfast and drinking his morning tea, Sherlock watched him still. He was tired of waiting and didn't want John to lose focus or forget about what they had experienced. Sherlock couldn't give up just yet, but he was going to have to start slow. He would have to ease John into it and help him cope with the things Sherlock planned on proposing to him. He would be relieved to finally touch the good doctor again, but he would have to be careful and patient – patience being something Sherlock did not have a lot of. He tried to think of small, meaningful gestures that he could use to bring John closer to him, but Sherlock had never been good at such trivial things. He had never had much use for subtlety because he simply thought it was a waste of time. Why not just tell someone something outright?

Sherlock stood and walked over to pick up his violin, tucking it under his chin to play. He needed to think of something. He couldn't be so candid with John about all of this – not yet. He needed to draw him back in. As he played, he heard John clearing away his breakfast then return to his chair in the living room. Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and found that John was watching him play. They made eye contact and Sherlock found it hard to look away. Had John watched him like this before? If so, he had never noticed. Sherlock finished the segment of music he was playing and set the violin back down.

"Is everything alright, John?" he asked, walking back to his chair. As he sunk back down into the cushion, he saw the corners of John's lips twitch into a small smile.

The good doctor blinked and let the smile spread across his handsome face. "Perfectly fine. Why do you ask?" he questioned, looking more and more confident in something. Sherlock couldn't quite place his finger on it, but John's expression was soft and his breathing was even. There wasn't a whole lot for Sherlock to go on and it was going to drive him mad.

(Switch to John's POV)

As John sat smiling, he knew the detective was trying to deduce something from the overly relaxed demeanor John had taken up. Oddly enough, he truly did feel relaxed. Watching and listening to Sherlock play was always relaxing to him. Something about the way his motions were so fluid and he seemed to lose himself in the music sometimes. It was oddly intimate, as he had always said and he couldn't help but smile, now. At first, John didn't know what to think when their eyes had locked moments ago, but the rush it sent through his entire body thrilled him. Sherlock hadn't looked away or given him a strange look, but instead intensified his gaze and made John's heart nearly stop. The detective hadn't been ignoring him at all; he could see it in those amazing blue eyes. The pent-up emotion he had sensed behind that breathtaking stare gave him hope that there was still something yet to come.

God, yes…. He's just being stubborn….

As John thought about what he wanted to say, he leaned forward, resting his hand on Sherlock's knee. He felt the taller man tense, involuntarily, at his touch and this gave him the courage to continue. He looked him in the eyes once again, brushing his fingertips back and forth over Sherlock's knee as he eased him into trusting the contact.

"Sherlock…. I think it's time we talk about what exactly happened a few weeks ago. You should know that I don't mind; that I'm ok with it…. All of it," he said, his gaze never leaving Sherlock's face. As he spoke, he saw the detective's eyes darken a full shade and saw his cheeks flush only the slightest bit. Oh, how he wanted to brush the curls back from that handsome face and kiss him into oblivion…..

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in understanding, "oh? You're positive you're ok with it all? With everything? No matter the circumstances, then?". The words came out fairly dry and John was sure that he was keeping up a very specific façade.. If he pushed all of this off as John's idea, he would virtually be free of consequence if things went south. It was about as good as John could hope for really.

The good doctor nodded as he replied, "yes, I'm completely fine with anything you want from me,". He began rubbing his hand over Sherlock's knee and, much to his surprise, Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't say anything, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

"Three weeks, John," the detective's voice came out strong and velvety. "It has taken you three weeks to reciprocate what I started with you and don't think for a second that I have forgotten it,". He opened his eyes and leaned close to John's face, reaching down to take the hand that was on his knee. He used it to pull John closer and he obliged. He was almost nose to nose with Sherlock who had a tense look in his eyes. "I don't like to be kept waiting, Doctor Watson, and I expect it won't happen again," his voice was a low demanding growl that made John's heart race. God, he was attractive in every sense of the word. His brilliant blue eyes, his high cheekbones and dark curls…. How did anyone ever resist him? How had he really waited this long to touch Sherlock again?

Steadying his breath, John held the taller man's unwavering gaze, "It won't happen again….. sir,". John tagged the last word on at the last moment, playing into Sherlock's dominant personality, and it definitely changed things. Sherlock's eyes blazed and he caught the faintest eyebrow raise. A sly smile spread across the detective's face as he leaned forward, slowly, and pressed a chaste kiss to John's lips. Fireworks - John was sure of it. This had to be what people meant in books when they described kissing. John leaned into the kiss and deepened it himself, parting his lips and darting his tongue out to touch Sherlock's bottom lip, inviting him in. The detective's muscles tightened and he slipped his tongue inside the good doctor's mouth, memorizing every last inch. John was glad he was sitting because, if he had been standing, he didn't think his legs would be able to hold him. He felt a tingling sensation all down his body that rendered him weak. In an attempt to regain some of that strength, he brought both hands up to Sherlock's face and kissed him back as deep as he possibly could. He brushed his fingers over every inch of his face until he pushed his hands up into the detective's soft, dark curls. Oh how perfect… he always wanted to run his fingers through Sherlock's wild and curly hair. He tangled his fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck and smiled into their kiss.

It was then that John realized Sherlock's long, violinist's fingers were working his dressing gown off his shoulders. He pulled back for a moment to give the detective some room to work and found that it didn't take long for Sherlock to work him out of the house coat. The fabric pooled around John's waist as he was still sitting in his chair and the taller man was looking him over with approval. John wore a thin white undershirt and flannel pajama pants and he was certain that his blonde hair was sticking up in all sorts of ways since he hadn't done anything with it after getting up. What could Sherlock possibly find attractive about him in this state?

(Switch to Sherlock's POV)

Much better… John had definitely been wearing too many layers. He still was, but Sherlock would just have to take things slow as not to frighten John off again. No matter how 'okay' he claimed he would be with everything, Sherlock wasn't going to risk it. The thin undershirt John wore hugged every muscle in his biceps and chest. He looked ravishing and Sherlock was sure he could have devoured him right then and there if he hadn't been working on his impulsive behaviors. He was certain that he needed to work John into these situations more slowly than before. He reached out and trailed his fingers over the good doctor's shoulders and pulled him into him, kissing along his jawline. This made the shorter man let out a hushed groan of pleasure. Just because John said he was okay with something didn't mean he wouldn't change his mind if he got worried about what other people would say. That always amused Sherlock – John's fear of what everyone else thought of him. As the detective pulled back once more, his eyes raking over John quickly, he didn't understand why anyone else mattered. Sherlock thought John was the greatest man that ever set foot on earth, why would he care about anyone else's opinions?

Sherlock cupped John's chin in his hand and tilted his lips up into a kiss once again. He could feel his flat mate shudder at his touch and it sent of surge of longing through him. Oh, how he could make John quiver with desire if he had him right here over the coffee table right this very moment… Deepening their kiss, Sherlock sighed and felt John moan into the kiss. Hmm, better not think like that. Not at the moment. It would be best to wait a while before bending John over any of their furniture. He entangled his fingers in John's light, golden locks with one hand while his other hand was playing at the hem of the good doctor's shirt. Slipping his hand beneath the fabric, he continued to kiss his flat mate as he ran his fingers over the muscles beneath John's undershirt. The skin was soft across his muscles and Sherlock felt John's muscles spasm sporadically at the light contact. He moaned into Sherlock once again and the detective could feel himself being turned on greatly.

As he broke their kiss rather abruptly, Sherlock swallowed to regain his composure. "John, I'm going to have to ask you to keep your vocalizations to a minimum if you want this to continue," he stated, matter of factly, looking John in the eye. He caught the faintest look of confusion on the doctor's face and sighed slightly, "I just can't have you moaning like that if I'm going to do this properly,".

John's brow furrowed, "Do what properly?". The question hung in the air only a moment before John came to the realization on his own. His furrowed brow raised in a small expression of surprise and Sherlock felt a smile threatening to cross his face. He fought it off, although it was hard not to smile when John did something so unexpectedly attractive.

Sherlock suddenly realized that his hand was still under John's shirt. He began sliding his hand down to remove it, feeling slightly awkward, when he felt John grip his wrist to stop him.

"Please…" John said, his voice barely above a whisper, "Don't stop just because of me,".

Just because of him. For God's sake, Sherlock hadn't stopped because of anything John had done; it was because he had been too concerned with doing things the right way without realizing John truly didn't care. For the first time, John really didn't care what other people would think or say about what they were doing and this sent a rush through Sherlock.

The hand he had under John's shirt slipped around behind the doctor's back and he pulled John into his lap as he kissed him again, harder than before. Sherlock felt John's weight sink into his lap and he relished the way the good doctor's hands felt as they made their way up his chest and into his hair. He closed his eyes as John tangled his fingers in his hair and he sighed. A small groan escaped the detective's lips and he felt John's body tense all over. Using his free hand, Sherlock began to caress the outside of John's thigh as he felt the doctor begin to tease him with his tongue. John's tongue swirled around Sherlock's before he sucked gently on it and then continued his swirling motion. The moan that escaped Sherlock's lips was unlike any sound he had ever produced and the teasing motion shot straight to his groin. His arousal was prominent now and he thought for sure John knew as it had to be protruding into his thigh by now.

(Switch the John's POV)

Oh God….. why did Sherlock have to sound like that? It was the most sensual sound John had ever heard and he was certain it would kill him. As his flat mate's erection threatened to impale his leg, John could no longer resist the urge to reposition himself. He broke the kiss rather sloppily and moved so he was straddling Sherlock in his chair. Still sitting on the detective's lap, he pressed his own erection into Sherlock's hip and bit down on his lip.

The taller man's breath hitched and his eyes darkened instantaneously. "Good God, John…", he growled, his voice low and uneven. His hand slipped down to grip John's waist and he began to rock him back and forth in his lap, slowly.

John's head fell back and he moaned as the friction between his erection and Sherlock's hip mounted on him. He could feel the detective begin to thrust his hips into the motion, as well, causing John to gasp quietly at the pressure of Sherlock's arousal against his backside. Glancing down at his flat mate, John saw a hunger in Sherlock's eyes that he hadn't seen since the first time they had tangled up on the floor of 221B. He was a tiger stalking his prey, once again, and John couldn't think of a better way to go out than to be ravaged by Sherlock Holmes…. Yes, it would most definitely be the death of him and John was perfectly fine with that.

He brought a hand up to stroke Sherlock's cheek and found that he was thrusting into the detective's hip even harder than before. As the taller man matched his pace, John felt him turn into his touch and press desperate, longing kisses into the palm of his hand. The intimate gesture was just as sexually driven as the way their hips were riding one another and John fought the urge to pull his partner to the floor, yet again. He tried to steady his breathing and focus his mind so he wouldn't strip Sherlock right then and there, but, as the detective began to let his head fall back and deep moans of pleasure filled the flat, John found it harder and harder to hold back. Their pace was more erratic, now, and John felt his erection jerk in his pajama bottoms. He was close and he wasn't sure what to do. His mind was fogging up and he was unable to process his own thoughts as the detective dry fucked his thigh.

Christ, he was actually riding Sherlock Holmes… and he was loving it. He could feel his partner's erection growing harder beneath him and he wanted nothing more than to make him come… He wanted to be the man that sent Sherlock over the edge, spiraling out of control. As he gripped the detective's shoulders and pressed his erection deeper into his hip, he made an effort to rub Sherlock as seductively as possible without breaking their rhythm.

John's breathing grew ragged and he could feel himself getting closer and closer, but he couldn't stop. Not until Sherlock came. He could see it mounting in the detective's eyes as they grew wilder and darker. He bent down and kissed Sherlock hungrily and he lost control. His erection jerked and John felt the warm sensation overtake him as he slipped over the edge.

(Switch to Sherlock's POV)

John was close. Sherlock knew it. He could feel his own release rising in his core and was more than ready to come, but he refused to let himself lose control until he satisfied John Watson. Yes, John Watson, the greatest man he'd ever met. The sexiest human being he had ever laid eyes on. The only person in the world to ever drive Sherlock out of his mind with desire and sexual tension. The moment the good doctor crushed his lips into Sherlock's, he knew he was going to be spent. He felt the rush in his pulse and the way every muscle in his body stiffened and this was all Sherlock needed. He opened his eyes to see John's mouth open, his eyes closed. He was moaning loudly and his expression was euphoric. Oh, yes…

"Come for me, John," Sherlock growled, riding his thigh as he felt himself drawing closer. He thrust harder and harder until, finally, he let himself break. He felt his entire body stiffen and he gripped John's hips to steady him as he came.. Sherlock's erection twitched erratically in his trousers and he could feel the hot, sticky sensation covering his thigh and shorts.

John all but collapsed into Sherlock's chest and he draped his arms around the good doctor's neck. He sat with eyes closed and his head on John's shoulder for what felt like ages. Neither of them moved or spoke a word. It was an oddly satisfying position – just soaking in the aftermath. Of course, this was all new to Sherlock who hated any sort of physical interaction after a sexual encounter, but somehow he felt as if he could hold John Watson like this for the rest of his life. Here, he felt John was safe – like he could protect him forever as long as he held him close, just like this.

As the detective's breathing began to even out, he could feel John's heart rate returning to normal and he was regaining more control of himself. It was hard to let him go, but Sherlock managed to let his arms rest around his partner's waist as he began to 'come to'. He could see a cautious expression in the good doctor's eyes, and before he could say anything, Sherlock tilted his chin up so he could press a gentle, affectionate kiss to his lips.

(Switch to John's POV)

Sherlock's kiss was all John could focus on. They had been soaking in the afterglow of something so incredibly mind-blowing and Sherlock kissed him… John's entire body was weak and he had no idea where he found the energy to kiss him back, but he was completely immersed in the kiss. Yes, Sherlock had kissed him before, but this was different. This kiss wasn't fueled by sexual tension or pent up desire. No, this was something else entirely. The softness in the kiss was more than John could bear and he melted instantly into the detective.

As he broke the kiss, John allowed himself to sink into Sherlock's embrace and he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, burying his face in the curls at the side of the detective's neck. He smiled lazily and gently kissed Sherlock's neck. When this didn't seem to elicit a response, John raised his head and looked up at Sherlock. He met John's gaze and the puzzled expression on his face worried John slightly.

"You ok?" he asked, feeling a bit apprehensive. What was wrong? He didn't understand why Sherlock looked confused and concerned.

The detective stared at him for a moment before he finally spoke. "Did I do it right…?" he asked quietly, "the kiss. Did I do it gently enough? Was it acceptable?".

John's heart melted. Of all the things to worry about, Sherlock was concerned with the quality of his work. He wasn't normally affectionate or loving, and it was at that moment that John realized he had done it for him. He wanted to convey an affectionate demeanor and he had wanted to kiss John with a purpose other than sex.

"Of course, you did," John smiled, brushing a mess of sweaty curls from Sherlock's forehead. "You were perfect…. You are always perfect,".


	3. Chapter Three

A/N: Okay, so this was a little longer than I expected, but I do love it! I'm grateful for all the love, comments, and kudos! Please keep them coming because I'm a shameless attention whore ? LOL However, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Fluff, a tiny bit of angst (if you can even call it that lol), fluff, a dash of smut, oh, and fluff…. Fluff on fluff because I felt fluffy ? but, don't worry! The heavy smut returns in the next chapter because, let's face it, they would be total horn dogs ? Love to you all! Enjoy!

Chapter 3

"Sorry... wrong day to die,".

Jim Moriarty stared at Sherlock, his dull, dead eyes empty and cold. The mobile phone in his hand had been answered moments ago and the detective was intrigued by the conversation that had been taking place. Moriarty's body radiated aggravation and the exaggerated look of disappointment mocked Sherlock's threat to shoot the explosive vest lying at the feet of his adversary. The explosive vest that had been strapped to John…. The dim lighting flickered off the water in the pool and cast an eerie glow over the scene. Sherlock did his best to remain calm and hold the pistol steady in his outstretched arm. The only thing that kept him from making any rash decisions was the sight of John Watson sitting against the wall, clearly still in a mild state of shock. He trusted Sherlock with his life and was brave enough to go along with whatever plan he chose and Sherlock had never admired anyone more.

"Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock finally asked, his eyes glancing toward the phone in Moriarty's hand. He felt certain he could hold his game face just a bit longer, so long as he didn't glance at John. If he could keep his gaze fixed on Moriarty, then he could keep his demeanor steady and threatening.

Moriarty smirked and raised the phone back to his ear. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock," he said, turning nonchalantly to walk away. His shoes clapped softly around the edge of the pool as he walked toward the exit. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich... If you don't... I'll make you into shoes," he droned lazily to the person on the other end of the line. Sherlock's mind was racing as he tried to rack his memory for something that he might could attach to the conversation. What could possibly be more important than what had just been taking place? Somehow, this worried Sherlock more. At that moment, Moriarty snapped his fingers and, as he disappeared through the exit, the red laser sights that had been trained on Sherlock and John vanished.

"What happened there...?" John's voice was slightly shaky and he sounded exhausted. Sherlock wanted to run to him and hold him tight, but now wasn't the time. He would have to comfort his partner later. There were more pressing matters at hand at the moment. He finally turned to look John in the eye and he realized how small he looked.

"Someone changed his mind. Question is... who?" Sherlock replied, his mind already spinning with the details and tedious deductions that were filling his mind. He couldn't figure out who would be able to sway Moriarty in such a way. He had been so persistent with Sherlock ever since he received his first 'case' from him the day before. It didn't make any sense. He had told Sherlock, though, that he had always planned on killing him, but he never revealed when or how he intended on making that a reality. Before, this thought never would have bothered the detective, but now…. He had John to think about and he couldn't keep putting him in harm's way.

Sherlock had lowered the gun and placed it in his pocket after checking the safety. He walked over to John and offered him his hand. The good doctor reached out and allowed the taller man to help him to his feet. Sherlock's fingertips pressed into the inside of John's wrist to feel his blood racing through his veins, although he tried to pretend he was fine. John was as white as a sheet and looked sickly. Seeing him this way stirred a feeling deep inside Sherlock that he had never felt before. Fear? Anxiety? He couldn't be sure, but he knew he needed to get John home as quickly as possible.

"Come on, let's get home. No need to linger here," he said calmly, placing a hand on John's shoulder and steering him toward the front exit.

(John's POV)

John had never felt more glad in his life to be back at 221B Baker Street. As they had taken a cab back to their flat, he was able to try to calm himself down without completely losing his sanity. He didn't talk as they made their way home, but Sherlock didn't press the matter. Besides, he seemed deep in thought anyway, hardly paying John any attention at all. For this, the doctor was grateful and, as they stepped inside, he felt the warmth and familiarity of their home wash over him. Their home…. He would've smiled if he hadn't felt like all the energy had been drained out of him. He followed Sherlock up the stairs and into the living room.

As Sherlock set to pacing in front of the window, deep in thought, John sank into his chair, his limbs heavy with stress. He let out a long, quiet sigh, his muscles aching as he closed his eyes. His thoughts took him right back to the pool. The explosive vest had been strapped under his jacket as he had waited for Sherlock and he could still feel the slight tremor in his hands. He had been on his way to Sarah's; he had planned to break things off with her after all his encounters with Sherlock. It wasn't fair to her. But, before he could flag down a cab, he had been knocked out from behind. He had woken up on the cold, tile floor of the pool room and found himself loaded down with explosives. He discovered that he had also been wired so he could be told what to say later, but Moriarty's chilling voice had taunted him as he waited:

"My, my, just look at you…. Won't Sherlock love this? You…. All vulnerable and needy. I'm willing to bet he'd bend you over that diving board… can I watch?".

"Say, Johnny Boy, who's the better kisser? Sherlock or your little girlfriend? Oh… wait…. You've only snogged one of them…..".

He knew. Somehow, Moriarty had known about his attraction to his flat mate and knew he and Sherlock had been getting close. The very thought made John's stomach lurch. Someone had been watching them.

He opened his eyes and tried to clear his head. It was over for now, but he was certain it wouldn't be their last encounter with the psychotic Jim Moriarty. He rose from his chair and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge, absentmindedly. As he stared at the half-empty carton of milk, he sensed Sherlock behind him. John didn't move, but the detective's presence was comforting.

"Are you alright, John?" he asked in a quiet voice, just above a whisper. He was standing only inches away and John could feel the edges of Sherlock's overcoat brushing the backs of his knees.

He hesitated, not really sure how he felt. "I-…. I suppose so. Maybe so," he said, finally. He tried to hide the annoying hint of worry in his voice, but he was sure Sherlock picked up on it. He was the cleverest man in the world; he was Sherlock Holmes. Of course he would notice.

As John closed the refrigerator door, he felt Sherlock's hands slip under his arms as the taller man wrapped his arms around him. The detective's hands closed around John's waist and he pressed himself against the good doctor's back. Before John could respond, Sherlock's face was pressed into the side of his neck, taking in the leftover scent of his cologne.

(Sherlock's POV)

Sherlock took a deep breath as he closed his eyes and hugged him close. He took in every detail he possibly could: the faint smell of John's cologne; the softness of his skin against Sherlock's face; the exact measurement of his waist and the perfect way Sherlock's arms closed around him; his soft, tousled blonde hair; the perfect way John leaned into his every move and made him want to hold him forever. If only he could protect him forever…

He felt John rest one hand on both of his and he ran the other up into Sherlock's hair, fingering his curls lightly. "I'm ok…. Really," John said, softly as he pressed his cheek against Sherlock's forehead. "It's just…. He knows about us, Sherlock. He knows I… he knows we've kissed; he taunted me with the things we've done," the doctor whispered, turning in the taller man's embrace to face him.

Sherlock lifted his head and studied his partner's face. His tired, grey eyes were heavy, but he was starting to get some of his color back. "I know…. I just don't know how he knows. I don't like not knowing, but I can't do anything about it, now. I just want to keep him from getting to you, again," he replied, squeezing John gently before slipping his arms out from around his flat mate. He untied his scarf and shrugged out of his coat, draping both garments over the back of a kitchen chair. He truly didn't know how Moriarty knew those things and it pained him to think what he must have said to John to worry him that much.

He had felt John's hand on his shoulder the moment he had turned to place his things on the chair, but didn't think much of it until he kissed the back of Sherlock's neck, lightly. "I'm going up to bed…. I'll see you in the morning and we can talk about this, then," he said as he turned to leave.

Sherlock turned sharply and gripped the cuff of John's shirt sleeve. "Not tonight," the detective answered, "I'm not letting you out of my sight after that. Come on,". He entwined his long fingers in John's and pulled him, gently, toward his bedroom door.

(John's POV)

Even as Sherlock led him down the hallway to his bedroom, John was completely taken aback. He had never even been inside Sherlock's bedroom, much less slept in the same bed as him. His head was spinning but his body trudged on behind the detective. Sherlock opened the door and led John into his room, releasing his grip on the doctor's hand and closing the door once again.

At first, John just stood completely still, staring around the room. Unlike the rest of the flat, which honestly looked like a bomb had gone off on most occasions (no pun intended at all…), the detective's bedroom was completely neat and tidy. Every object had a specific place and every surface was free of clutter. John didn't even see any traces of dust around the room. Sherlock slipped behind him and moved to the closet to take off his shoes and place them neatly on a rack on the inside of the door. He removed his blazer and gingerly hung it on a hanger and placed it back on the clothing rod. Closing the closet door, he turned and fixed John with a look he couldn't name. The good doctor was fairly certain Sherlock was very much aware of the fact that he was looking the place over.

"Make yourself comfortable," Sherlock finally spoke, brushing past John on his way to the bathroom door. "I'm going to get ready for bed. I'll be right back,".

John felt Sherlock's fingertips ghost over his elbow as he had passed and it sent a small shiver through him. As the bathroom door closed, John found himself glancing around, unsure of what to do. All of his clothes were in his own bedroom and he wasn't sure how all of this was going to play out. He glanced down at his shoes and decided he could at least start there. He crossed the room and took a seat in a small desk chair as he began to untie his shoes. He could hear the water running in the sink through the bathroom door and could almost see Sherlock washing his face and towel-drying the damp curls that fell across his forehead. Good God, he had no idea how he was supposed to sleep next to Sherlock not really knowing where their… relationship... had been headed. However, John honestly wasn't sure if they could even call what they had been doing a "relationship". Messing around was one thing, but, in most relationships, once you slept with someone -literally slept next to them in the same bed for the night- everything normally took on a different meaning. Sleeping over was an entirely new level of intimacy.

The bathroom door clicked open snapping John out of his thoughts. He looked up quickly as Sherlock entered the room in just a white T-shirt and blue plaid boxer shorts. The good doctor was fairly certain his mouth was gaping open rather stupidly, but he couldn't bring his brain to do anything about it. Thankfully, the detective didn't look at him as he made his way to the perfectly uncluttered desk on the opposite wall. His back was turned toward his flat mate and John had to tear his eyes away before he got himself into trouble. The soft fabric of the white T-shirt hung lazily on Sherlock's lean frame and his boxer shorts hugged his arse perfectly as he bent over the desk to write something down.

John placed his shoes under the chair he was sitting in and made his way to the bathroom door. He was glad he didn't catch Sherlock's attention because he was sure he wouldn't have been able to speak. His mind was still recovering from seeing Sherlock with so little on. Shaking the image from his head, he realized that Sherlock had laid out his toothbrush and toothpaste. Brushing his teeth, he could feel some of the tiredness leaving his body and settling in his mind instead. He had been "diagnosed" with PSTD upon returning from Afghanistan, but he had never truly been affected by it. He had, in all actuality, craved the war – the thrill of the fight and being involved in the action. Tonight, however, had been very different. The fear he had experienced was something else entirely. In war, he was just a soldier. A doctor. A statistic. With Moriarty, things were personal and he had made sure that John was well-aware of just how personal it could get.

(Sherlock's POV)

Sherlock stared down at the word he'd written on the paper on his desk: windows. It was the only possible explanation. Moriarty must have had snipers staking out the flat, watching his every move. He had already proven that he had numerous guns ready to fire at his command and Sherlock was positive this was how Moriarty had known about John. He would have to be more careful from now on. He walked over to the only window in his bedroom and closed the curtain before collapsing onto his bed. He lay flat on his back, his hands pressed flat together just beneath his chin as he stared up at the ceiling.

As he lay in silence for several minutes, he wasn't actually aware of when John had returned from the bathroom, but he noticed him sitting in the chair across from the bed. He wore a white undershirt and was still in his jeans. Judging by the way he fidgeted slightly with his fingertips and the barely noticeable twitch in his left eye, John appeared to be nervous and unsure of what to do next.

The detective didn't look at John at first, but he patted the empty space on the bed next to him. "Here," he said simply, "you really need to rest. You'll be safer here,".

John hesitated, but once Sherlock turned to look at him, some of the tension eased and he came to stand beside the bed.

"You are welcome to sleep as you are, but you may find it easier to get comfortable if you remove your trousers and shirt. I know that's how you usually sleep," the detective gave a small smile as his words gave John a sudden look of alarm that he quickly tried to bury. Sherlock almost chuckled at the sight of John's embarrassment. He supposed the good doctor had never been aware that he had seen him sleeping on multiple occasions when he had snuck into his bedroom to borrow his laptop during odd hours of the night.

"You watch me sleep?" John asked, absurdly. "Sherlock, that is borderline-"

The detective cut him off. "I slip in sometimes and borrow your laptop, John; you're not that interesting," he said smugly, giving his partner a pointed look.

The good doctor blinked at him as a look of confusion crossed his face. He shook his head, clearing his mind, and turned his back as he removed his trousers and shirt and left them in a heap on the floor. As he climbed into bed and under the covers, he turned his well-defined back to Sherlock once again without saying a word.

It was at this point that Sherlock realized he may have said something he shouldn't. With a sigh, he rolled over and reached out to touch John's shoulder but he paused. He could see the angry scarred tissue of the bullet's exit wound on John's shoulder where he had been shot in the war. Although he knew of the incident, seeing the damage it had caused gave him an odd feeling inside. He laid his hand on John's shoulder and felt the good doctor's body relax into his touch slightly.

"I wasn't exactly truthful a moment ago, John," he said quietly. He brushed his thumb back and forth over the scar as he spoke, "I think you're very interesting, which is why I couldn't watch you sleep. I wouldn't get any work done and I would've been caught the first time I tried," Sherlock suppressed a smile, although he was unable to hide the amusement in his voice. He felt the tension drain from John's shoulders and his flat mate turned to face him. Sherlock let his hand fall back onto the bed as he lay on his side.

John's eyes were so dark blue they were a steely grey and the look he was giving the detective captivated him. It was a mixture of amusement and affection that Sherlock had never seen directed at himself before.

"I know and it's ok. It's just been a stressful, terrifying day and I'm a bit on edge. And adding all of this on top of it has just got me a bit stressed out," the doctor said, trying to smile.

Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion, "Adding all of what?". He hadn't the slightest idea what John was even referring to.

"This," John motioned between the two of them, "in your bed, Sherlock. In normal relationships, going to bed together puts everything in a more meaningful place and I don't even know what place we were in to begin with,". His voice cracked a bit with frustration and Sherlock felt like he was beginning to understand.

"John, I'm afraid I've never been classified as normal and I don't believe a life with me would be any different –" This time it was John that cut him off instead.

"Sherlock, I don't necessarily care about the normalcy of things as much as I'd just like to know where we stand. What are we doing? Where is this going?" he sounded a little overwhelmed, but also like he was trying to stay calm for Sherlock's sake.

The detective stared blankly at him and for the first time wasn't entirely sure what to say. He didn't have a lot of experience in relationships – no experience romantically to be exact. John made every effort to remain patient with him primarily because of this reason and he knew it. He had never involved himself in romantic entanglements; he had always assumed it would interfere with his work and he never found anyone that made him feel otherwise… until John, of course.

"I apologize, John. I… I don't really have an answer for you. I've not got a lot of experience with this sort of thing. This is all new territory for me. I've never been on a date; I've never had a significant other; I've never even shared a bed with anyone until now," the detective replied, his voice quiet. "I know the science behind the things we do, think, and feel, John, but I won't pretend that I understand them,".

(John's POV)

As Sherlock spoke, John felt a wave of sympathy crash over him. Sherlock had never been in love, had never taken anyone out on a date, and had never been with anyone on an emotional level. He truly had isolated himself from his emotions. John began to wonder how lonely his life must have been, but decided it best not to dwell on that sort of thing. He had a chance to show him something different and he was going to take it.

"Look, it's alright," John replied, bringing his hand up to rest on Sherlock's side. He felt the detective's muscles spasm beneath the unexpected touch and he began rubbing his hand gently up and down his side, soothingly. "I don't expect you to understand those things. I don't even truly understand them myself. I didn't mean for you to think like that. I just want us to decide what we are to one another and maybe I can teach you the rest,".

Sherlock gave John a puzzled look, but John continued to speak, "I've had past relationships, albeit not very good ones, but I do know the basics of the ordeal and I can help us get through them. We just have to decide what we want from one another. What exactly do you want out of this between us, Sherlock? I'm not pressuring you… just give me an idea of what you think of us. What do you deduce about the way you think of us?,".

The detective was silent for a moment. John could almost see the gears in his mind grinding away as he was deep in thought. He finally looked back at John and his face was expressionless. "I'm not really sure," he paused as his eyes met John's, "but I know that I enjoy your company. I want you to stay with me as long as you're willing and I'm certain I like to kiss you,". John chuckled at this and encouraged Sherlock to continue. "I genuinely like you on a personal level; you aren't cruel or unkind in any way unlike most. I've enjoyed my work and life at 221B more since you joined me here, and…" he hesitated, almost as if he couldn't find the words he wanted to say next.

John smiled and propped himself up on his elbow to look at Sherlock more clearly, "You're doing great. Go on. Tell me what's on your mind," he said, encouragingly. Sherlock let out a suppressed chuckle and smiled back.

"I… I'm sure I enjoy all the things we've been doing together lately. I'm also fairly certain…" he drew in a breath, letting it out slowly before he continued, "that I wouldn't mind you accompanying me to bed more often,".

As John blinked in surprise, Sherlock lowered his gaze, becoming extremely interested in a wrinkle in the fitted sheet on his mattress. The good doctor couldn't help but smile. Sherlock – knower of all things, corrector of anyone and everyone – seemed embarrassed. Why couldn't he see how bloody perfect he was?

"Well then," John started, placing his hand in Sherlock's, "I'd like to join you anytime I'm invited,".

The detective smiled for a moment, but a sliver of sadness replaced it after a few seconds. He studied John's hand as he stroked his knuckles with his thumb. His doctor had been through so much and even still, after everything today, John still wanted to be wherever he was. Getting involved with his flat mate was what got John into trouble in the first place. Would Sherlock be able to protect him this time? Did John really want to put himself at risk like that? Was he really aware of the danger that was going to come? "John?" he asked quietly, his voice different from a few moments ago.

John raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, questioningly. He wasn't sure what had just happened inside Sherlock's head, but he was sure he was about to find out. "Yes, Sherlock? What's wrong?" he asked, calmly.

Sherlock's eyes were roaming his face slowly, almost as if he were memorizing every feature and detail. He was silent for a few more seconds and, just before John was about to ask again, Sherlock took a sudden interest in the fold in the bedsheet once again before he finally spoke. "When I got to the pool to meet Moriarty, I didn't expect to find you… when you stepped out and showed me that explosives vest I felt something I have never felt before… I wanted to keep you safe and I didn't know how. I was worried about your safety and I couldn't think of anything other than getting you out of there safely…. I was afraid. I was afraid Moriarty would hurt you or even kill you and I still am. I'm not sure how he knows about all of this, but I'm certain I won't ever let him harm you. Not again,".

As the words left Sherlock's lips, John felt his heart plummet into the soles of his feet. What had he ever done to deserve someone so pure and good? The man had his faults, but his perfections were far more profound. He wasn't sure how long he was silent – it felt like an eternity as he couldn't tear his eyes away from his partner's. However, when the right words never came, John did the only thing that came to mind: he slipped his hands up into Sherlock's dark curls and crushed his lips into the detective's.

He felt Sherlock's entire body respond to him almost immediately, going completely rigid at first before relaxing into John entirely. He could feel him kissing him back almost euphorically. He had taken the taller man by surprise, and he relished that fact. Grazing his teeth gently over Sherlock's bottom lip, he hummed into the kiss earning a sharp moan from the detective – his detective. All of the anxiety and fear he had harbored from the day's events disappeared and was replaced with a warm, comforting feeling.

Seeking to deepen the kiss, John felt Sherlock lick gently along his top lip and the good doctor moaned in response, parting his lips. John slid closer to Sherlock and allowed him to wrap his arms around him to pull him to his chest.

(Sherlock's POV)

Sherlock slipped his arms around John's back as they continued the kiss – the doctor breaking apart for brief moments to place light kisses across Sherlock's cheekbones. Pulling his partner close, he took in every detail he possibly could about the way John's body felt in his arms. Running his hands over the muscles in his back, Sherlock felt as if he was trying his best to memorize every inch of his skin.

The longer John kissed him, the further Sherlock fell into arousal. He broke their kiss and, as his partner's face rested against his neck, he grazed his teeth along John's earlobe. John moaned breathily into his neck and this made Sherlock's skin tingle all over. Bringing his hands down to John's waist, he pulled the doctor's hips into his own and bucked against them just gently enough to cause a tense wave of friction. The good doctor let out a strangled moan as he bit down on the soft skin between Sherlock's neck and shoulder with purposeful desire.

"Fuck, John!" he yelped, digging his nails into John's sides as he bucked into him harder. If John kept that up, he would be having him right this very night and he couldn't imagine a better way to break his doctor in. Hmmm, the first night he brought John into his bed and the first night he made him his own – oh what he wouldn't give to make that a reality.

His breathing was ragged and heavy and, even though John showed all the signs of intense arousal, Sherlock felt him loosen his grip and pull away from him slightly. That wasn't what he had expected at all…

"Are you alright? John? What did I do?" he asked, almost too quickly. It was things like this that made him terribly bad at relationships. He never was able to pick up on certain emotional or social cues. Usually, by the time he realized whatever it was that he had done wrong, it was already too late – damage was already done.

John tried to laugh a bit, but his uneven breathing robbed him of his ability to. He looked up at Sherlock with a small smile and placed a hand on his chiseled cheek.

"Yes, Sherlock…. It's all very well; it's just that I have to go to sleep. I have work so very early – in just a few hours to be exact – and I simply can't miss another day. I promise to make it up to you, though, you insatiable git," John answered with a grin and a small, lingering kiss to Sherlock's cheek. He brushed a hand through his curls and snuggled closer to his flat mate. "However, I must admit that I wouldn't mind cuddling together, love," he added the last word so nonchalantly that Sherlock almost didn't catch it. Almost.

Love? As in 'my love' or 'I love the idea of cuddling'? Sherlock shook the idea from his mind, resting his cheek on John's forehead as the doctor closed his eyes. "Alright… If you insist," he answered, softly, twisting his chin just far enough to place a kiss to John's soft, dirty-blonde hair. He would just have to will away his arousal and show John just how patient he could be.

"Goodnight, John… and don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you," he said quietly into the shorter man's hair.

The good doctor's eyes were still closed as a lazy, affectionate smile spread across his features. "Mmm… Goodnight, love…"

Oh…..


End file.
